The Colour of Pain
by Evil-Ekat
Summary: Pain. It came in many different colours. Blacks and blues of bruises, the translucent rainbow of tears, and the scarlet of blood. And at one time, the vibrant yellow and black of a young boy. A seven year old child named William, or simply test subject number 618. Third genre is friendship.


**Interpret this as you wish, consider it AU, consider it IU. Cry into your pillow or stare at the screen blankly wondering what you just read. Tell me how you reacted, and tell me how you interpreted it, I'm curious.**

**Title: The Colour of Pain**

**Rating: T**

**Genre: Tragedy/Angst**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Gravity Falls.**

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Pain. It came in many different colours. The blacks and blues of bruises, and the scarlets of blood. And at one time, the vibrant yellow and black of a young boy. A seven year old child simply named William, or test subject number 618.

**C**lear. Translucent. An indescribable thing, made of seven others. Clear is the colour of tears, and the plexiglass cell that he is being held in.

**I**ndigo. A sort of purplely blue colour. Or so he's told. He's never seen the light of day, been outside. He was eternally damned to remain in a test cell. Because they don't see him as William, a seven year old boy with feelings and emotions, a human heart. All those white coated men see is their latest breakthrough in the quest for the impossible. The game only god should play, and fools should watch.

**P**urple. One of the many colours of the bruises. Mainly the ones that circle around his neck. When he asks why, he is eagerly told;

"Why for science of course! We've been testing your endurance to pain!"

**H**eather. A greyish shade. To him, it sounds so much nicer than slate grey, the hue of nearly everything he sees. The monotone colour seems to haunt him. Grey saturates the walls and floor, it's the colour of his clothes, skin, and food. Heather is prettier than that. Heather is the soft colour of the clouds at dawn, and the cool shades of water on a rainy day. Or so he has read in the numerous books that surround him.

**E**merald. Like the city he supposed. It was also the colour of the cruellest scientist's eyes, the one who visited him often. He told the boy everything that he would go through in a day's torturous schedule. He explained by resting his heart with electrical shocks ever few minutes would teach his body to function without oxygen, or placing rods of firy metal on his skin would develop resistance to extreme weather. He crooned about how isolation from others would develop the inability to care for others, and how lucky he is to be the one they test on. It sort of makes him wonder about what happened to the other 617 souls before him.

**R**ed. A bright scarlet is the colour that blots out his vision as he sees that little boy on the first day. His ribs stick through the loosely fitting clothes and his face his clean, but covered in bruises and marks. Red is also the colour of the blood trickling from his split lip, and now the broken nose of the scientist.

"You monsters! What are you doing to that child?! I won't allow it! I don't care who authorized it! The president can hang for all I care! This is inhumane beyond measure! You can't turn a child immortal through the tests of the deranged!"

**S**aphire. The colour of the little boy's eyes. It is the first thing he sees when he wakes up. Rubbing his head, he wishes it was all a dream. When be tells him this, the little boy nods but replies;

"Reality is an illusion."

Honestly, he has no idea what that means, but it is enough to set him on edge. Who knew what the side effects were of this sociopath's experiment? With what little strength he has left, the man crawls to the opposite side of the cell. Here, he wonders where his twin brother Stanford has gone, and if he will be able to find him here or not. Trapped in the lair of a mad scientist who had a part time job selling used cars. What were the odds?

**T**eal. That is his favourite colour the boy discovers after asking the man a series of questions. Why, he was not sure. But the boy was just happy to have someone to talk to. He spoke for hours on end about anything that came into his mind, the silent thoughts of seven years. They bond through this. One person talking while the other listens to the endless words of the first, only saying something every now and then. There is no night-time where they are. The lights remain on all the time, but when the boy becomes tired enough, he always ends their conversation in the same way.

"Good night Stanley!"

He always makes sure the boy is asleep before replying;

"Night kiddo."

While the man makes sure of this, he does not notice the smile that curves across the boy's face as he says this.

**A**mber. The colour of the fluid the mad man injects into the boy's arm. Unlike at the other tests he has endured, the boy screams through the pain. Tearing at his hair and throat, begging for them to stop. His vocal chords become strained and start to break. He coughs up blood between the sobs. Begging, pleading for them to go away, leave him alone. When the man asks who, the boy stares at him blankly and says;

"Help. Me."

**N**avy. Not only was that a colour, it was the division of government he had once worked for. Once, meaning they had exiled him here in this lab. A place sponsored by them in order to gain nothing less than everything. A way to control the world with a single blow. All the tests at first seemed like something out of a cartoon. But as they begin to work, as miracles are preformed before his eyes. Answering impossible questions, holding a control over things, and that piercing gaze he now held.

**L**avender. Another test tube full of sin, this one doing the unchangeable.

"Ah hahahahahahaha! Ah hahahahahahaha!"

"W-William what's happening to you?!"

"The name's... not... William...I think I'll go with... Bill."

**E**bony. The last thing the man will see, black, a dark endless black. Black is the new colour of the demon-boy's eyes, or rather eye. Ebony is the last thing many then saw at his hands, and many more to come would. Stanley chokes out his last few regretful words;

"I'm sorry."

Sorry. For what? This he does not understand. Why would he be sorry? After all, it was _him _who had just killed the only person who had ever really talked to him, was nice to him, tried to protect him from his tormentors...

"Stanley? Stanley get up! I'm sorry!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"You! What did you do to my brother?!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"G-get out! Leave!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

**Y**ellow. It's every where, he is yellow. He doesn't know exactly what he is. A thing, a demon, the final step? Breaking out of his small grey prison, he found himself locked in the large grey prison of his mind.

"Stanley is that you?"

No, of course not. No one is there. It's just him back alone in his cell, the only colours he sees blossoming from his pain.


End file.
